


Mission Status: Unknown

by mysterycyclone



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Runner Five, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Spoilers for S5M1 to S5M22, Tom is wordy and everything happens in the mess hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterycyclone/pseuds/mysterycyclone
Summary: Tom de Luca is very good at watching people. Especially now that he's gotten free of his cell.He watches Five in particular.(Spoilers for S5M1 through to S5M22!)





	Mission Status: Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TyraaRane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyraaRane/gifts).



> Just a quick note: Sam and Five are married in this, thanks in large part to a ficlet Tyraa sent to me one day.

It is just after curfew in Abel Township. The sky is a deep purple tapering into dark, the wind is cold and biting, and a man wearing a stolen uniform walks down a side path leading up to the farmhouse with a small messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The few people who wander the streets of the township are similarly dressed, though they walk the main paths. None of the regular citizens would be out this late unescorted.

It has been two weeks since Ian Golightly told Tom de Luca his sister and her friends were killed by Steven Sissay. Tom knew better. Golightly firmly believes Janine is dead, but Steven Sissay doesn't. Tom could see it in his posture, the way he casually avoids Tom’s eyes, the nervous tic in his shoulder. An altogether odd stance for his sister's celebrated murderer to have.

Janine had fooled them.

Tom de Luca is not a large man. Those chosen for his line of work rarely are. They choose someone of average height, if a bit smaller, and whipcord strong. Someone who can easily blend into a crowd, someone so forgettable that you’d forget they were even in the room with you.

Tom is very good at blending in when he needs to, and when he has the presence of mind to do it properly. Sanity is a vital asset to any mission, as it turns out, and a rather limited resource for him these days. And he _is_ on a mission inside Abel, though no Handler or Operator had given it to him.

Tom adjusts his hat, ducking down to avoid notice. The uniform he’d stolen from the laundry doesn't quite fit correctly. His shoulders are too thin, and the fabric hangs loosely from his frame. But the military’s standards have fallen quite a bit during the apocalypse and his shabbiness isn’t likely to be noticed, let alone commented on. Many of the soldiers Sigrid has left behind are not actual soldiers; they lack the group discipline, the team spirit that made men into a unit. They're all mercenaries, trained killers, people who are fiercely loyal to Sigrid--and _just_ Sigrid. He's seen a few brawls among the various groups outside the tequila shack (now off limits to any of Abel’s true residents). It makes infiltrating their ranks shockingly easy for someone with his background.

There’s a sound further up the path. Two targets, coming in from the north, where Janine’s farmhouse sits. His objective. Guards, Sigrid’s troopers, both male and both scowling. Their body language is rife with pent up aggression and frustration, and they're following the path leading towards the runner’s living quarters. Another errand from Ian, most likely. But why so late? It's nearly lights out. Curfew has been in effect since after dinner. Tom cocks his head to the side, regarding the two soldiers openly and curiously. It would be far more suspicious of him to duck and hide instead of facing them boldly, but some part of him is tempted to do just that.

The taller one takes notice of Tom and his messenger bag, sighs, and says, “Off to give your report, mate? Good luck. Commander Golightly’s in a right mood. Someone laced his tea with laxatives last night. Again. He thinks one of the runners did it and he has us going off to take more ‘luxuries’ from them to throw into the burn pit.”

The second man scoffs. “It’s not like they’ve got anything left. He’s already stripped them of everything but the clothes on their back and taken what he wants. He could at least share with the rest of us instead of keeping it all to himself.”

“That figures. Good luck,” Tom grunts in response, pitching his voice lower than normal and letting his shoulders slump as he walks past the two soldiers. The two men stare after him for a moment and then go on their way. Tom relaxes slightly when he hears them carry on down the path.

Good to know that last night’s mission has been a success, at least. He'll need to find Cameo and thank her for her help with it. It isn’t just a petty strike at Ian; the man can’t handle any amount of discomfort at all, and the more distracted he is, the more likely Janine’s plan will succeed. Whatever plan she has in place, that is. He doesn't know what it is yet, but that isn't entirely out of character; Janine often keeps mission plans to herself, and it isn't like she'd be able to tell him while he's locked up in prison at Abel. Assuming she'd be willing to tell him anything at all these days. That isn't likely.

He does know she has a plan. Janine always has a plan, and she won't abandon her people. She only ever makes mistakes once.

And, well, it's a _little_ fun tormenting Golightly as well as being tactically sound. Maybe Tom will use the itching powder he found in the radio room on Golightly’s laundry basket next. It might keep him from tormenting Ms. Wood any further. At the very least, it'll make him appear weak and foolish in front of the soldiers stationed at Abel and erode what little respect they have for the man. That in itself is useful. Mercenaries of the caliber Sigrid keeps in her employment have little use for weak and ineffectual leaders.

Cameo Wood. She's a good one; steady, quick on her feet, strong willed. Good to have on your side when a mission goes sideways. Janine had been right to make her a runner.

 _Focus, Tom._ Something within him says this, sharp and forceful. It's strangely familiar. What was left of the old Tom, perhaps.

Right! The mission. The objective. Focus. How the mind wanders when it's been broken.

He needs intel. He's been lucky enough to trick Golightly into revealing things during their ‘talks’ in the mornings (the man has a certain skill in torture, as unrefined as it is, and a strange fascination with cattle prods and tasers), but he needs to know more. Something to give to Ms. Marsh, to help keep her spirits up. Janine would want that. She will need her people ready.

The best place to get information is straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. Abel is still in a state of flux. Sigrid has been forced to leave behind a sizable force to keep the township citizens in line; no one will pay any attention to one more soldier walking up to the farmhouse with a messenger bag at this hour. And Ian Golightly wouldn't notice. He's far too disorganized, and too petty and stupid to cultivate loyalty among the men placed under his command. What would have never occurred under Janine’s watchful eye is disgustingly commonplace under Ian Golightly.

The guards near the farmhouse are much more professional in appearance, but only wave him through when he flashes some orders he’d pulled from Golightly’s trash a few days ago. The moment he’s past them, they resume their conversation. Even the most disciplined have no time for proper procedure; a stolen uniform, a sullen look, and impatient demeanor is enough to get past them.

Tom gives the men a quick salute and moves past them. He sneaks a look over his shoulder to make sure they’re not looking, and then ducks into the shadows of the farmhouse. Janine has very good security. Lights, motion alarms, sensors, even a few small exterior cameras. None of them work properly for Ian Golightly. Jody and Cameo sabotaged them before accepting Sigrid’s terms for surrender, cutting her off from using them. As a result, the farmhouse is almost criminally easy to sneak inside during the dark of night. Tom has done it often enough, when he has the will and patience for it. He occasionally entertains the thought of killing Ian in his sleep (especially on the days when Ian’s cattle prod is charged--it’s hard to deny the urge on those days), but he knows that Sigrid will only replace the man with someone potentially more competent. Ian never thinks in the long term, and that's a glaring weakness Janine can use to her advantage.

Guards patrol the perimeter, but foot patrol is mind numbing work, and Ian Golightly leaves them on duty for twelve hours at a time. Most get bored stiff after three hours. It’s a tired, pathetic lot that walk in the cold outside Janine’s home. Tom avoids them easily, checking each of the windows he passes until he finds the one he needs. Light pours from the window, and the curtains are drawn back.

Really, now. It’s like the man doesn’t even _expect_ an assassination attempt! Tom has half the mind to launch a rock through the window and into the man’s face, just to drive home how stupid he is. That someone so petulantly  _stupid_ as Ian is in charge bothers him immensely, despite the anger and pain he still feels whenever he sees Janine.

He settles for peering from the edge of the window sill. It's Janine’s sitting room, and it still has all of her furnishings in place for now. The back of the room is stuffed full of boxes--looted items from Abel’s populace. Tom can see tea, coffee, biscuits, and even personal mementos sticking from a few of the overflowing boxes. Ian Golightly is sitting on a sofa near the fireplace, and a soldier stands before him, holding another box. This one is much smaller than the others.

“All right then, what did you find in Runner Five’s bunk?” Ian asks, hungrily eyeing the box. The soldier holds it out to him in silent reply, and Ian snatches it from his hands. He seems surprised by the weight of it, testing it with a few careful shakes.

“There wasn’t much, sir. That's all we found,” the soldier says, letting his hands drop to his sides. The soldier’s voice is respectful, but only just. His body language is stiff and tense.

“Well. There's certainly not a great deal here, is there?” Ian says, shaking the box again. He pulls it open and stares inside it. “Is _this_ how they treated their beloved hero? It's just letters and drawings! I would have expected at least a box of biscuits. Perhaps a medal or two! Really? Bloody hell, de Luca certainly knows how to treat her people, doesn’t she.”

He pauses and frowns down at the box, shifting some papers aside. A look of disbelief flashes over his features as he pulls a teddy bear out of the box, holding it up to the light.

“ _This_ was in Runner Five’s bunk? Really? A _teddy bear?_ If I’d known that, I could have used it for those pamphlets the Minister has plastered all over the country!” Ian scoffs, tossing the bear and box both at the soldier, who fumbles to catch it. “Put it in the burn pile. No one has use for it here, and the last thing we need is for the rebels to get all sentimental about her things. Even something as ridiculous as a bloody teddy bear.” He checks his watch, then turns to yell towards the next room. “Viv! I’m feeling a bit peckish--go have the kitchens butcher one of the chickens for us, will you? I’ll need a nice soothing soup tonight. We’ve got a lot of work to do on that radio show.”

The soldier, sensing his dismissal, ducks out of the room and back outside, holding the box of items stolen from Runner Five’s room under one arm and muttering darkly about Golightly’s parentage under his breath. Tom shadows the man as he moves through the town towards the bonfire set in front of the rec room. Books, toys, games, all of them smoldering and burning low in the night in front of the former game room. The smell of burning plastic and rubber fills the air, making it difficult to breathe. It makes Tom nauseous, threatening to pull him back to a memory shared with his sister in a far off land. He stumbles and hesitates in the dark, struggling against the image of smoke bombs and lost friends on an assignment gone bad.

The soldier sets the box down and unslings his weapon from his shoulder. He unceremoniously impales the bear on the bayonet at the edge of his rifle and holds it over the flames. Smoke begins to trail from the side of the bear facing the flames.

Tom panics for a moment and then steps out behind him on the path, and jogging up to him, coughing from the smoke.

“You! You there!” he calls, stumbling to a stop in the path and ducking his head. The lights were dim here, but it wouldn't do for the soldier to recognize his face now. And that bloody _smell._ Tom didn't have to fake the coughing and retching, at least.

“Yes?” There's a wary tone to the soldier’s voice. “What is it?”

“Commander Golightly’s asking for you, sergeant,” Tom says, breathing deeply, his eyes watering, “He says he wasn’t done with you and wants you back at the double!”

“Ah, bloody hell. Should’ve known I wouldn't get off that easy,” the soldier mutters, kicking the box. It skitters to the edge of the pit and Tom has to fight back a surge of panic. “Listen, can you take over? We need this stuff burned. Commander's orders.”

“I think I can handle that, yes,” Tom replies, watching the soldier rip the bear off the bayonet. The soldier tosses it into the box, slings his rifle back over his shoulder, and then starts back up the path.

“Thanks, mate,” the soldier calls back to him, jogging up the path. Tom counts down thirty seconds to make sure the man is truly gone before he snatches the box back and away from the smoldering pit.

It's warm to the touch, and aside from the bear, seems to be full of papers and, oddly enough, a single pair of glasses. Tom reaches in and grabs the bear, lifting it up in the flickering light. The bear had an odd look on its face. Very stern, with thick eyebrows in flat lines above the eyes. It's wearing a small business suit (though part of that suit is charred and melted to the fur now) with a proper tie and coat. All business, this bear was. Tom inspects the damage carefully; it isn’t anything that can’t be fixed. Someone will need to stitch the bottom and the head, perhaps find some more stuffing for the middle, but the bear is perfectly serviceable. He wraps the bear up in a spare shirt, tucking it away inside of his messenger's bag.

He ducks back down over the box, pulling up the papers. They're all letters addressed to Runner Five, thanking her for jobs well done, with several including little doodles and notes marking her latest achievement. Tom is not surprised to find Sam’s name signed on the bottom of most of them. He picks them up, doing his best to avoid reading them, and puts them in next to the bear. There's no real strategic value to these items, nothing that will help Janine reclaim her home, but Tom knows Five is important to a lot of people. And he knows Five carries heavier weights than most suspect--a few items from home might help lift some of that weight.

He had certainly wished for a few things during his time away from home.

Night has settled in completely by now. The guards will do a spot check on all of the prisoners soon, and then begin the night roll call. Tom will have to move fast if he intends to give his report.

He throws the box into the fire, then strolls away from it, taking the back paths and timing his movements to avoid any patrols that might be in the area. There was never any variation in the routes the guards took, and he knows the path well enough to reach his destination in his sleep. He probably has done it in his sleep, actually. It's awfully hard to sleep inside that prison box sometimes, and sometimes he just needs to hear a friendly voice.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the prison cells, and he heads straight for one in particular, set far from the others. A short, squat building that had once housed building tools and supplies for the township, it's been cleared out of both to repair the walls that were destroyed in the Minister’s attack. It plays host to one individual at the moment: Jody Marsh. She's been kept there ever since Abel fell to Sigrid’s soldiers, her eventual fate undecided just yet. Her cell is near the prison that was currently under construction. Or, rather, the prison boxes. Tom had been moved to the first one that was built and he has no doubt that Miss Marsh would end up as his neighbor the moment more become available.

Trapped inside a dark box, chained to the wall, fed watery gruel that made starvation preferable. Left with only her thoughts to keep her company, her memories, her guilt--

He would have to find a way to prevent that. He adds that to his mission objectives; the prison boxes are a torture Jody has not earned in the least, and the thought of her being placed in one is enough to make him tremble. It would break her. Perhaps they could fake an illness? Dr. Lobatse could help! Oh, but that was risky. There’s a good chance that Golightly would make her suffer rather than give her medical care. In fact, it was astonishing the man hadn’t brought her in for a ‘talk.’ Astonishing and very, very good for his continued existence, that is.

A murmuring conversation carries across the road to him, two guards walking their patrols. It snaps him out of his thoughts, and he ducks into the shadows, silently stalking from one patch of darkness to the next towards his next goal. He'll have to be quick. The next patrol will be by in five minutes exactly. His movements are sure, practiced, graceful. Just as they had been back in New Canton when he relived his disastrous mission with Runner Five and Janine.

This is fun, in a way. Using his old skills, sharpening them up a bit. Trapped in enemy territory, with friendlies kept captive, a prison break on the horizon. It's a remarkable distraction from his broken thoughts. At least, when he can find it within himself to break free of his captivity and do his duty.

He stands at the back of the storage shed, tapping a short code against it. Runner Five’s tap codes have become extraordinarily useful as of late, serving as a silent language among the runners and rebels. Golightly has forbidden all use of sign language and tap codes, threatening swift and severe punishment to anyone found using it, up to and including removal of both hands for repeat offenders. Foolish. He should have left it alone and learned the code to stay informed; forbidding something only forces it underground.

There's a pause inside the building. Tom knows there's only one occupant inside; Ian had rightfully become paranoid and split the prisoners apart from one another shortly after taking command of Abel. There's a shuffle, and then a very quiet voice spoke from the bottom corner, where the boards didn't sit evenly against the building’s foundation. “Who’s there?”

“It's me, Ms. Marsh.” He has missed her voice. Friendly voices are in such short supply these days, and hers brings him more comfort than he realizes. “Here to give you my report.”

“Right.” A shaky sigh, and then a quiet thump as she leaned against the wall. She sounds tired, but her tone gentle. “What’ve you got, Tom?”

“Not much,” he admits, then repeats what he overheard Sissay report to Golightly that morning between the sharp shocks of the cattle prod. “They still can't get through to the labs below Abel, but it sounds like they're bringing in help. Safe crackers, thieves, security consultants.”

“That doesn't surprise me. Sigrid has a lot of resources she can call in. We have to keep them out of there, Tom,” Jody says, and her voice is tired when she speaks again. “It's the last thing I promised Janine I’d do before she left. I've already failed her once. I can’t do it again.”

The defeat in her voice is painful for him, and his own took on a sympathetic tone. “You haven't failed her, Ms. Marsh! Not in the least. It was right to surrender when you did. They would have killed us all if you hadn't.”

“Maybe that would have been better.” The bitter tone speaks volumes.

Tom _almost_ tells her right then that Janine is alive, that her friends haven’t been killed. Just so he wouldn’t hear her give up hope. He has to bite his lip to keep from doing so. It's quite likely that she wouldn’t believe him anyway. She does still think him broken. Perhaps he is.

After a few seconds, Jody speaks again, a bit more like her old self. “What else have you found out?”

“Mr. Golightly is still stripping the townspeople of their ‘luxuries,’ I’m afraid. And he still thinks I know how to get inside the labs.” He hesitates for a moment when an unwanted memory of this morning's interrogation comes forward, threatening to overwhelm him. He forces the memory aside. He can’t forget himself here. Not now. Later. “He was going to have Runner Five’s things burned. I stole them and hid them away where he can't find them.”

There's a long pause, a quiet sniffle, and when she speaks again, he can hear the slight smile in her voice. “That’s good, Tom. Thank you. I’d like to see them one day if I ever get out of here.”

“I’ll keep them safe for you, Ms. Marsh, don't worry.” His tone is vehement, eager.

Quiet voices echo up the path. The guards are coming by again on their rounds. He's taken too long--dangerous, stupid. He can't be caught outside of his box, especially not with the cargo in his battered messenger bag.

Jody hears them, too. “You’d better go, Tom. They’ll come looking into your cell once they finish with mine.”

Ah. That's right. He still hasn’t told her about the box. Well, no need to bother her with it, really. She has plenty on her mind as it is. “I’ll be back soon, Miss Marsh.”

He's true to his word. He visits her as often as he can until their escape, and is quite surprised when she insists that he come with them.

 

\--

 

Noah Base is a godsend in some respects. He has a cell again, mood stabilizers (courtesy of Jody and Runner Five), and a bed. Living in the rough wore on him more than he let on; he can’t handle that lack of structure anymore. Not yet. Perhaps later, once he's adjusted to life without torture.

The rest of their ragtag crew settles into the base happily, glad to have solid roof above their heads again. Rebel runners from New Canton and Abel trickle in by ones and twos, filling out the roster. Their names and faces are a blur at first, but he's taken note of the newcomers. He’s a bit curious of this Peter fellow, and if Janine stopped threatening him with a gun long enough for him to ask her about the man, he probably would.

Of course, given the painful looks she gives Peter when the man isn't looking, there’s a good chance she’ll shoot him for asking about it, too. Tom knows what he can and cannot tease his sister about, and romantic feelings top that list. He knows how hard it is for her to trust someone like that, and whatever history that exists between them is full of pain and regret.

Jody visits him often in his panic room/cell. She comes in with knitting needles and yarn and has him hold his hands up for her while she measures out the lengths she needs. She sometimes just knits the gloves over his hands, sitting down beside him and leaning against his arm for balance. Watching her work is fascinating, calming. Her hands are so steady, and having her head rest against his shoulder causes a warmth to flow through him that he has never experienced before.

“You really do have the perfect hands for this, Tom,” she says, her fingers brushing across the back of his hand. He can’t help but smile at her, and when she looks up and catches his eye, she returns it warmly.

Ms. Marsh really is an exceptional woman.

“Well, I suppose they’d have to be useful somehow. They’re not doing much most of the time,” he replies, wiggling his fingers a bit. She gently pokes him with a knitting needle, and gives him a mock glare until he holds still again. “Who are these for?”

“Sam. He says his hands get cold in the comms room, and Five found some yarn for me to make him a new pair.” Another loop around his hand. She leans in close, squinting at the loops of yarn, testing the tension. “And I should have made him a pair when we found the base. His hands always got cold in the comms shack back home, too.”

“Ah, yes. That’s a sign of poor circulation; he sits for too long. That’s not very healthy, you know. He should join his wife for her midnight runs! Get the blood flowing properly again.” Another loop. She's making fingerless gloves. They're about half done by now. Maybe he could ask her for a pair? He has no real need of it, but perhaps she’ll come and visit him again if she had reason to…

“I didn’t know Five was still doing that.” Jody frowns, pauses in her knitting to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It promptly slips loose again, tickling his wrist. Tom smiles. “I thought she was resting better now that we found the base.”

“Oh, yes, she still runs. Most nights I can hear her do a lap or two,” Tom says. Maybe he could take up knitting? Oh, he’ll be utter rubbish at it, but she could teach him. Assuming Janine approves of him keeping a set of knitting needles. He knows she’s not overly fond of Jody coming to visit him with her knitting supplies, but she hasn’t demanded it stop, either.

Jody sighs. “Maybe I should talk to her? I don’t think she’ll say much to me. She was always closer to Sam.”

“It's worth a try, I suppose.” Her voice trails off, and she focuses more on the task at hand, scooting closer to him.

They sit in pleasant, companionable silence until she finishes both gloves and ties off the yarn, pulling her hands back. He wishes she hadn’t moved so soon.

“There,” she says, grinning at him while she wraps up her unused yarn and tucks it away in the old fabric grocery bag she used to hold her supplies. “All done. Thanks for the help, Tom. I owe you one.”

He flexes his hands, then takes off the gloves and hands them to her with a flourish. She laughs, reaching out to take the gloves. Her hand lingers against his and, feeling a bit braver than usual, he catches her hand and squeezes it briefly. To his delight, she doesn’t tense at all--just grins and squeezes his hand back.

“Well, perhaps you can help me?” he asks, a stray thought occurring to him. She tilts her head up at him, watching him curiously. He’s still thrown by how much she trusts him, even after all he’s done. It humbles him. “I’m looking for a sewing kit. If you happen to find one, please let me know. There’s a certain project I’ve been putting off that I’d like to finish sometime.”

 

\---

 

He still forgets himself sometimes. The medicine helps, making it rare, but sometimes he simply loses himself. A month after claiming Noah Base, he sits alone in the mess hall, staring at his food. Canned spaghetti. The tomato sauce is shockingly bright. A deep, bright red, like the blood pouring out his self inflicted wounds, staining the dirt beneath him, alone and abandoned, red like the meat and muscle left over from his captors when they tore each other apart in a ravenous frenzy--

“Tom?” Janine. When did she get here?

When did everyone get here? He looks up from his meal and finds himself the subject of furtive, worried and wary glances from several members of Noah Base. Dr. Cohen, Mr. Yao (who is really quite bad at subterfuge in general and would have been less obvious if he had simply outright stared at Tom), and Runner Five. Five’s expression is a mixture of worry and sympathy. She always seems to have that look about her when they're in close proximity to each other.

“Tom. Focus on me, please.” Janine’s voice is firm, her words slow, as though speaking to a dangerous animal. He did not miss her left hand’s subtle movements towards her hip. He couldn’t see the sidearm on her hip, but he knew she must have at least three on her person. Perhaps one up her sleeve.

“Oh. Yes, of course. I hadn't realized it was meal time for the rest of the base.” He always takes his meals in private, hours before the rest. The solitude usually helps him keep focus, keeps him from forgetting himself again. He finds crowds overwhelming after his time spent locked up--they're too chaotic, too loud. Unpredictable. Impossible to keep track of the numerous threats they could hide within their midst. He stands up slowly, backing away from the meal that looks like so much blood and gore under the sterile fluorescent lights. “My apologies. I’m afraid I’m not very hungry tonight.”

“It's quite alright, Tom,” Janine says, moving to stand between him and the rest of her people. He sees Five frown and shift behind Janine when she does. The rest seem to breathe a small sigh of relief. “Let me take you back to the panic room, please.”

“I think I’d like that, Jane.” He means it, too. Anything to get away from so many eyes staring at him. It feels like they can see right through his skin, straight into his soul, his sins. They make a quick exit from the mess hall, and he can hear the quiet murmur of conversation echo down after them when they’re out of sight. It isn't a very long walk to the panic room at the heart of Noah base, but it feels longer tonight. He really is having a rough time of it tonight.

Janine waits until he’s inside the room before moving her hand away from her hip. His good behavior must be paying off; there was a time not too long ago where she would have kept him at gunpoint until the door was secured.

“I’m afraid I’ll be late letting you out tomorrow morning,” she says, leaning against the door frame. There's genuine regret in her voice. “There’s a sensitive mission due to take place at dawn, and I’ll be needed in the comms room with Mr. Yao.”

“Oh?” His interest is piqued. Janine oversees most missions from Noah, but she never refers to them as sensitive. Sensitive means something big, delicate, and prone to disaster if not completed properly or given to the proper soldier. “What’s the assignment?”

“Runner Five will be returning to Abel to aid Dr. Lobatse’s escape. As you can imagine, this will be difficult, but nothing Runner Five won’t be able to handle.” As always, Janine has complete confidence in her friend.

“I look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow, Jane,” he says, and he means it.

 

 ---

 

In the end, it isn’t Janine who opens the panic room door for him, it’s Jody. She tells him about Five, the ambush, and how she's been trapped at Abel, and warns him to be careful. The mood is somber and low enough that he opts to stay inside the panic room and skip meals. It takes him a few days before Jody comes back and takes him into the mess hall, taking his hand in her own and gently leading him down the halls. She moves with such purpose and strength that he doesn’t think of saying no until they’re already in the mess hall with a plate of food. Bean and vegetable stew, with a vitamin pill to the side.

“You should eat with the rest of us. You’re part of Abel now, and it’s not right for us to keep you locked up like an animal. I know you won’t hurt me, or anyone else,” she says, sitting down beside him at one of the tables. “And you’re half-starved besides. Eat, Tom.”

He obediently takes a few bites of his meal; he’s not hungry, and he's gone longer without food, but he doesn’t want to upset her. Satisfied, Jody tucks into her own bowl of soup, staying close to him.

Tom takes in the mood of the room as he eats, and what he sees disturbs him. Sam sits in the far corner of the mess hall, head bowed over his food tray and his hands tangled up in his hair. Maxine sits next to him, squeezing his shoulder and murmuring quiet reassurances in between urging him to eat. Paula sits on the other side of Sam, cradling baby Sara protectively, frowning into the distance. Peter stalks around the room, worrying his lower lip; it looks like he’s debating going to speak to Janine about something. He seems to twitch or shift whenever one of the others mentions Five’s mental fortitude.

All said, they're all handling the whole affair exceptionally well for a bunch of untrained civilians! That is, they aren’t currently in a complete and utter panic. That shouldn’t surprise him. Janine knows how to surround herself with competent officers, and these were seasoned veterans of the apocalypse, well used to disaster and adapting to less than optimal conditions.

And then there’s his sister, in the office just down the hall. It’s attached to the comms room and lavatories, and the door is usually open for better ventilation. Tom leans back in his seat, and he’s able to look directly inside. Janine’s looking over the latest report from Mr. Sissay and an updated map from Abel Township is spread across the metal desk in front of her. He knows her tells, and he can see her coming to the same conclusions he did four days ago when he learned Five was being held prisoner in Abel. He recognizes the expression, the way her eyes move along the map. She's mentally laying out plans, testing them for weaknesses, and discarding them.

The likelihood of Runner Five surviving to come home again in her current state is very, very slim. Janine is too disciplined to say as much. It would destroy morale, and she needs everyone focused on the task at hand.

Her best agent captured before the mission can even begin. A mission that _must_ be completed if they’re to defeat the Minister. Oh, it isn’t that the others weren’t just as competent as Five. They simply lacked the luck and sheer willpower of their friend. Five is a survivor, above all else.

A thought occurs to Tom and he stands up, pushing away his half eaten meal.

“Tom?” Jody asks, tilting her head and checking him for any signs of distress. She’s caught him in the middle of an anxiety attack once or twice since they settled into Noah, and he's shocked at how well she's handled those occasions, how gentle she's been with him. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course, of course, I just need to talk to my sister. Won’t be but a moment,” he says, briefly squeezing her shoulder before walking over to Janine. Jody relaxes at his touch (and isn’t _that_ a new development) and gives him a small smile before going back to her meal as he leaves the mess hall and walks towards Janine's office.

Janine looks up when he approaches, and he’s struck by how _tired_ she looks. He doubts she’s slept much at all in the past four days. She hides it remarkably well, and he makes a note to gently remind her to take care of herself when she locks him in his cell that night. He sits down in a stiff, plastic chair across from her desk and looks over the map. Ian Golightly has been a busy little bee since they were last there, apparently. Janine quirks a brow at him and hesitates, but doesn't shoo him away or send him back to the mess hall. That's a promising sign.

“They’re going to start questioning her soon, Jane,” he says quietly, looking over the defenses. A direct rescue mission is out of the question. The Minister has deployed several guard units around Abel to prevent Five’s escape, and Tom doubts even he or Janine could easily get inside it now. Escaping those same defenses with a weakened Five would be impossible. “Ian Golightly likes to soften up his guests for a few days in the boxes before he starts. If we make a move, it must be soon.”

“I know,” Janine says, shifting uncomfortably when he mentions the boxes. He told her about them not long after they settled into Noah; he's never seen her so furious. The thought of her friend suffering the same treatment as he did bothers her a great deal. “Runner Five is in no danger of losing her life yet. The last thing the Minister wants is to explain why she killed a renowned hero. A large swath of the population doesn’t believe the lies the Ministry is spreading about her, and her power hasn’t been completely consolidated just yet. Were I in Sigrid’s position, I would seek to recruit her to my side, if only to make my life easier.” Janine sighs, rubbing her eyes. “In a way, she’s already done something similar. King Jamie is currently being tortured into obedience by her.”

  
“There’s potential in that line of thinking. What happens if they decide to label her as a traitor outright?”

Janine’s frown deepens. “She’ll be executed as a traitor. Likely in as public a forum as the Minister can create, after weeks of propaganda.” She pauses, thinking. “Five knows the codes to the labs under Abel. If Sigrid thinks to question her, there’s a chance she could learn that.”

“We’ll have to keep them from doing that, then. Everyone breaks. The only variable is the amount of time it takes. Although, to be quite frank, Ian Golightly is a bit too heavy handed for that line of work.” Tom thinks Five could hold out for months before she breaks. She will also quite likely feed Golightly his own liver if the man foolishly threatens any of her friends in front of her. That tactic may  work on Kytan, but it will not go far with Five, and Golightly is not a terribly observant man. “And I don’t think I could stand seeing what would happen if the Minister learns you’re still alive.”

“I know that, too.” And now she shoots him a frustrated look. “I have an idea, but I don’t have anyone who can put it into motion. The Minister never truly trusted me, but she doesn’t know that she can’t trust Five. She’s arrogant, she thinks loyalty can be bought, and she's always on the lookout for more agents of her own. Particularly those who prove themselves to be exceptional in the field.”

Well, that's high praise indeed! He wonders if Janine has ever shared that with Five. Possibly not; Janine shows her trust in ways different from others. Five is a perceptive sort, though. She may have picked up Janine’s high esteem of her on her own. He thinks for moment, turning to one of the maps that marked out locations outside of Abel Township.

He hums to himself, and then nods. “It’ll have to be like that joint operation down in Queensland, then. Remember that trick we pulled with the radios? We needed to lure out our targets, so we put on a bit of a radio play for them?”

Janine pauses and she turns to follow his eyes to the map of the repeater station Tom had once used for his hideout. He sees the plan fall into place, sees her consider it from several different angles, and then sees her blink.  That plan apparently passed muster. “Yes...yes, that could work. Where is Mr. Yao?”

“With Dr. Myers and Dr. Cohen in the mess hall, currently. Where I should be, actually,” he says, standing up, “Ms. Marsh may well scold me for abandoning my dinner if I don’t.”

“Then you should return to it,” She stands, and gives him a considering look. “She’s right. You _are_ too skinny. Go eat, Tom. ...And thank you.”

“Of course, Jane. Happy to be of help,” He says. Janine is already marching down the hall towards the cafeteria. Her steps are brisk and echo loudly in the cement hall; a sign of her agitation. She could tread over dry leaves in complete silence if she so chose.

Tom trails after her, walking over to the table he had left a short time ago, and sitting back down next to Jody. She’s paging through a novel; some silly fantasy book with a man wielding an improbably large sword on the cover that Peter had found during his last supply run. She looks up when he gets close, marking her place in the book. “Everything okay, Tom?”

He smiles at her, settling down close to her again. “Everything’s fine. I just needed to help Janine put the finishing touches on an operation.” He picks up his spoon and stirs his stew. The top layer has congealed from the grease cooling, and it takes some effort to stir it. It’s still better than the food most are getting at Abel, and may be high cuisine compared to what his captors served him in Algeria.

Jody relaxes, then nods, and keeps an eye on him when he eats. She would probably scold him if he skips another meal. Maxine would, too, if she wasn’t focused on Sam and baby Sara. He glances over at the little group in between bites.

Janine is with them, sitting across from Sam, Maxine, and Paula, speaking quietly and urgently. Sam looks worried, but hopeful, and nods as he listens to Janine. He trusts in her plan completely.

Tom hopes Five returns whole, that whatever plan Janine is putting together goes well. He had never spoken to her much, and knew only that her hand to hand was brutal and effective, if amateurish. Of course, he _had_ been trying to steal her husband’s baby at the time, so the lack of grace could be excused.

Perhaps Janine would let him teach Five the proper technique for tackling a man stealing a baby? It was something to ask later, when she was in the mood for questions.

A thought occurs to him. Was Janine like this when _he_ went missing? Or did she just blindly accept his death the way she had accepted their parents’?

Another thought. Five is not the sort to tell Janine she _can’t_ do something. She’ll complete whatever task is in front of her with no regard to her own safety and mental health. Is Janine prepared to harbor _two_ broken people at Noah Base?

He wouldn’t mind having a roommate, but he’d request a larger room. He would get tired of her running circles in the panic room.

 

\---

 

The plan, of course, goes off without a hitch. Janine did her work well. The Minister believes Five is on her side, and has made her a trusted confidant. Sam’s anxiety is stabilized, and Janine even asks him to Tom to help her prove Five’s loyalty to the Minister.

It’s the most trust she’s shown him since they reunited. She only threatened to kill him twice while he prepared for deployment! Progress.

Jody gave him chaste kiss on the cheek for good luck. He left the base beaming, and, in his opinion, performed his duty remarkably well. He did feel bad for shooting Owen in the leg--he made sure to aim for the calf and away from anywhere important. As far as he can tell, it was a success; the bullet grazed the side of the man’s calf. Painful, and he would likely have a scar, but after a few weeks of recovery, he would be good as new! Probably. Wounds were funny like that.

He starts his return to Noah Base, full of the strange, post mission adrenaline rush that follows every successful operation. Sam is on the headset with him, and his voice is subdued and troubled as he guides Tom back home.

“She didn’t _look_ well,” Sam says quietly, and Tom can hear the younger man shift nervously in his chair, “Like, she was pale. Really, really pale. And too thin. I thought the Minister trusted her? Shouldn’t she be getting better food?” A sigh. “I wish I could talk to her, or even pass a note or something. She doesn’t look quite right.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible until she finishes her mission, Mr. Yao,” Janine says, “What we did today should make that task easier for her. She’ll be home soon.”

“Undercover missions are always stressful affairs, Sam,” Tom says, jogging through the woods near Noah. He’s taking his time coming back, doubling back a few times to make sure no one is following him. It was nice to have some fresh air for once! “Given the circumstances, she’s performing remarkably well! Whatever Five did before the apocalypse was a criminal waste of talent, in my opinion.”

“Agreed,” Janine replies quietly. Something is bothering her, he can tell by her voice. “We’re lucky to have someone of her capabilities on our team. The ability to adapt to such drastic changes is difficult even for seasoned agents.”

“Yeah, I know. Five would never disappoint us if she could help it,” Sam shifts again, then after a few moments, speaks up. Tom isn’t surprised; Sam can’t help _but_ talk sometimes. It soothes him, and judging by the runners, it soothes them, too. “Tom, was the grenade _really_ necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, Sam,” It was also a lot of fun. He hasn’t had a chance to play around with grenades in quite a while. Probably best to not mention that to the man whose wife he just threw it at, though. “You couldn’t hear the Minister barking orders at Five through her headset, Sam. I had to keep up the charade somehow, and the only other option would have been to shoot her. Even the Minister won’t risk an asset like Five against a crazed man waving a grenade around.”

“ _Shoot her--_ ” Sam sputters, and Tom recognizes the furious tone in his voice. It’s the same one Sam used when Tom stole his infant daughter her family. “Why was that _ever_ an option?”

“He’s right, Mr. Yao. If the Minister suspects even for a moment that Five isn’t as loyal as she seems, she’ll have her killed or worse. Although,” And Tom can hear Janine’s tone turn dry, “I _am_ curious as to _where_ you found that grenade, Tom.”

Tom grins, closing in on the entrance of Noah. “Sorry, Jane, I’d like to keep _some_ secrets!”

That earns him a slightly annoyed sigh, and Tom fights down a surge of glee as he steps inside the base and walks towards the elevator. That sigh had remained the same since they were children. Tom would frequently sneak into their study (never her room; he always respected Janine’s need to have her own space) and rearrange her study materials just to tease her

All in all, it was a good day’s work.

 

\--

 

There’s a storm on when Five returns, literal and figurative. They can't hear the storm’s fury this far underground, but the runners coming in with supplies are drenched and miserable souls. Tom is in Jody’s room, sitting on her bed, watching her carefully stretch the muscles in her legs and back in preparation for her turn outside when the radio on the nightstand beside her bunk chirps.

Janine’s voice comes through--she’s All Business, as usual, but there’s another undertone there that he doesn’t recognize. It almost sounds as though she’s in pain and trying to hide it, but that’s not quite right either. He’s heard her speak when injured before.

“Runner Four, grab whoever’s nearby. I need you to run an escort. Runner Five is returning to base. She’s three kilometers out from our borders. You’ll need to move.” A brief pause, and now Tom can hear Sam murmuring exhaustedly in the background, guiding Five through flooded creeks and paths. He sounds bone tired and seems to be struggling with holding back tears. “Bring a spare coat. The last thing Five needs is to catch a cold on top of everything else.”

Jody snatches up the radio immediately, nearly stumbling over her feet. Tom reaches out and places a hand on her side, helping steady her. She shoots him a grateful smile, then clicks the radio. “On it Janine! Tom and I will be out in less than three minutes!”

There’s the barest pause before Janine speaks again. “Grab the emergency headsets from the hall near the elevator. Time is of the essence, move!”

“Roger that, Janine, we’re on our way!” Jody is all blurring motion, a change from the steady, slow stretches he had been admiring only a moment before. She snatches a hair tie up from the nightstand and ties her hair back.

Tom does a few quick stretches himself, then heads out with her. It's been awhile since he saw any field work, and part of him is eager to get some fresh air.

The rest is filled with dread. Something about Janine and Sam’s tones bothered them. Oh, Sam has been half a man ever since Five went into Abel, but this was different. There was a _brokenness_ there that hadn’t been there before. Something must have happened.

He keeps his concerns for himself, stashing a windbreaker in his pack for Five, before turning on his headset and moving into the storm.

It's a _miserable_ run, in every sense of the word. The rain falls in buckets, sometimes sideways thanks to the heavy wind gusts, and they're both soaked through and exhausted before they reach the quarter mark. Janine takes them to one of the separate channels and guides them through the storm to Five.

He and Jody find Five stumbling up the side of a hill, her arm streaked red from the rain mixing with the blood that's soaked through the bandage on her arm. Mud cakes her legs up to her knees, and her hands are bright red and covered in burns. She looks like a ghost in the driving rain, and sways in the wind while she catches her breath. She’s been running flat out.

She stumbles to a stop when she sees them, and Tom shudders at the look in her eyes. Jody sweeps in immediately, yanking the windbreaker out of his pack. She wraps it around Five, and keeps a protective arm around her.

“You’re almost there, Five.” She murmurs, guiding her friend up out of the mud and onto solid ground. “Sam and Janine are waiting for you.”

 

\---

 

Tom doesn't see her again for three days. When he does, he’s not shocked to see how much she's deteriorated since coming home.

Five is in the mess hall when he sees her, limply picking at the stew Lou had prepared. The bandages on her left hang loosely from her palm, brushing across the dull metal table. She was underweight, pale, and dark bags hung beneath both eyes. Her clothes, the only ones that truly fit her well after her captivity, were covered in the bloodstains of a dead friend. Tom would have to tell Jane to find new clothes for her. Nothing good could come of wearing the blood of a dead friend, no matter how many times the stains are washed out. And he doubts anyone else knows where those bloodstains came from.

He watches her. He was very good at watching someone without them knowing. The only one better at it was his sister. He can recognize the signs the others don’t. The tensing, the furtive looks for exits, the hesitation at the head of a dark room. He knew them all very well indeed.

Tom frowns when Five jumps at a sudden noise from the kitchen. Five did _not_ come back whole. Tom could see it plainly in her eyes. They had been haunted and secretive even when he first met her, playing host to horrors his wounded mind didn’t dare guess at, but now they were all but hollow. The light, the fire that had been there, the one that flashed when his sister called for her to help with some assignment or mission, hadn’t quite been snuffed out. He could tell it was a very near thing, however.

Sometimes a bit of it comes back, like now. Sam makes his entrance from the kitchen, holding a steaming bowl precariously in his hands. He sits down next to her, and immediately begins to fuss over her, reaching over to gently take her left hand and fix the bandages that had fallen loose there. He murmurs worriedly, his expression pained and exhausted. Five relaxes, and though a smile was not possible for her--and wouldn’t be for some time, Tom suspected--the barest hint of it was there. And her eyes showed the smallest spark. That was good. The fire had been smothered but not extinguished. Even a spark could return as a flaming inferno if one was careful. Or not careful, depending on the circumstances, he supposed. His mind begins to wander, half listening as Sam talks to Five.

A bonfire for friends, an inferno for enemies. That was not quite a bad way to be, all things considered. He would have to help feed the flames. Perhaps Ms. Marsh could help him? He knew she would. Five was one of her dearest friends.

And there was the bag. The go-bag he had made while captive in Abel, the one he had stashed inside his cell in case he ever needed to make a quick escape from Noah. He would have to look for it when he returned to the panic room tonight. Janine had given him more leniency than usual when it came to his curfew in the base. He could finish it tonight, perhaps.

Sam speaks in quiet, soothing tones while he wraps the bandage tight around Five’s palm. He holds her hand once he finishes, mindful of how tender they are. “I didn’t hear you get up this morning, Five. Guess I sleep harder than I used to. I think I slept through some of the morning chores, too. Janine’s going to throw that base schedule at my head one day, I just know it. Oh, that reminds me--it’s movie night! Janine says we have enough power for one movie night a week, sort as a sanity break for everyone. It's Paula’s turn to choose, I think, but she said you could choose if you’d like--”

There didn’t seem to be any point to his conversation other than to talk. He kept on, changing from topic to topic. He told her all about the music he’d found, the old shows, how he found a muzak version of Duran Duran’s greatest hits for the elevator, and his quiet offense at Janine threatening to pry the speakers out of the elevator if he dared use them. All of it nonsense, nothing related to their mission whatsoever.

It seemed to do Five a lot of good. She could use more harmless nonsense in her life. Or she simply just needed to hear _Sam_ talk. After a few moments, he decided that was it.

Tom finishes his meal and leaves unseen. They should be allowed to have their moments of peace alone.

 

\--

 

It takes nearly a week before he sees her again, busy as they all are. It’s late, later than he’s usually allowed to be outside of his panic room. Janine has been gradually giving him a longer leash, especially after the missions in Abel. She’s also been in a minor slump herself; seeing Five in her current condition is affecting her more than Tom realized.

Five’s staring down the corridor leading to the living quarters where everyone (well, not him of course, but everyone _normal_ ) slept in separate rooms. He had to make a conscious decision to add weight to his steps so she heard him coming; his training had been too complete in some ways--it was second nature for him to hide, to be silent. But that would do no good here. She turns suspicious and wary eyes to him, and then relaxes when she recognizes him.

What an odd reaction to have around a psychotic MI6 agent. Then again, he knows she’s faced much worse than the likes of him. And, well, he _has_ been behaving lately.

“Hi, Tom.” Her hand signs are slow, stifled by the bandages wrapped around them.

“Hello, Runner Five,” He says, coming to a stop next to her. “Waiting for someone? I think Sam already went to bed. Seems baby Sara put him through his paces earlier.”

She hesitates, shifts on her feet, and then shakes her head. And says nothing more. Curious!

It takes a moment before he realizes. Five is just as resource conscious as his sister, the hall is pitch dark, and the only light switch is where she’s standing now. She doesn’t want to go into the dark. She’s afraid of it, as anyone would be if they've spent too much time locked inside Ian’s bloody boxes--and she has, he recognizes all of the signs. And she’s too honor bound to leave the lights on all night.

His heart breaks when the realization hits him, and thinking quickly, he turns the switch on. She turns and tilts her head at him. “I hope you don’t mind me switching that on. I thought I’d go take a stroll down the hall and check on Jane, and I’m not a fan of these dark hallways. She’s asked me to talk out an exit strategy for the base in case we should ever have to leave. I’ll be sure to turn it off once I'm done.”

Five’s shoulders slump in relief, and she nods. She gives no indication whether she notices his blatant lie or not, but he suspects she probably recognizes his excuse for what it is. “Be sure you turn it off. Good night.”

She walks ahead of him, and he can see exhaustion weighing down her every step. He almost moves forward to catch her when she trips, but she catches herself, finally shuffling into the room she shares with Sam. He can see a pool of light spill from the doorway; Sam must have left a lantern on for her. Janine had made sure everyone had a battery powered lantern at their disposal in case of an emergency power failure.

He waits for a few minutes after she shuts the door, and then shuts off the light and turns away, heading back towards his room.

He had seen Janine hours ago. She was asleep with a bottle of good whiskey sharing her pillow. He didn’t need to bother her further.

 

\--

 

Another week passes. He hears her sprint past the panic room door sometime in the early morning. There's a different cadence to her steps than the marching step jog she usually has when she passes by his door--she truly is running from something this time. He grabs the box under his bed and sneaks out of the room, following the sound of her footsteps. Janine would likely hear the alarm and come to find him, so he’ll have to move fast to catch up to Five.

He finds her curled up tight in a far corner of the base, near the small memorial Jody and the others had created for their fallen friends. It was a simple affair with just a fold out table set in a wide hallway near the center of the base, draped in a red tablecloth one of the runners had found somewhere.  The latest additions covered the majority of the table’s surface: mementos, letters to the departed, a small Australian flag.

Five is curled up on the ground across from it, staring at the small altar. She shivers, hugging her knees, and burying her face against them. Her shoulders hitch with the force of her sobs, and her gasps echo down the hall.

Oh, he’s been here before. It’s never a pretty sight.

He sits down beside her, leaning back against the wall. He stays like that for a few moments, waiting for the worst of her sobs to subside, and then turns to face her. “Nightmares?”

Five nods, but keeps her face hidden. It was almost like she was ashamed of her tears. Or ashamed to show weakness. It was hard to tell with someone like Five.

“I get those a lot too, you know.” He says, keeping his tone light and conversational. “Except I tend to hide under my bed. It’s where they couldn’t reach me through the bars with their batons.” Memories threaten to overwhelm him again and he forces them aside. He’s gotten better at that lately. “Your method is a bit healthier for the heart, I think.”

There’s no response to that, but she turns her head until one bloodshot, tear filled eye focuses on him. That was a good sign. He needed her attention for this part.

He sets the box down between them. “It might be forward of me to say this, but...I know some of what you’re going through, Runner Five. And I wanted to let you know that it _does_ get better. Keep your chin up, and remember you have friends here who can help. Even the ones who don’t seem like they can help themselves.” He clears his throat and shifts slightly, suddenly feeling nervous. Five and Janine share a lot of traits in some respects, and he hopes he’s not overstepping some sacred boundary. “I found these in Abel, but I haven’t had the chance to give them to you. I thought you might like to have them back.”

Five gives him a weary, curious look before she shifts her legs forward and pulls the box into her lap and opens it. She freezes, then carefully lifts up the bear. His restoration wasn’t perfect (his stitching was impeccable, at least), but the bear had needed more stuffing, which he was in rather short supply of. And there was nothing to be done about that melted bit of coat along his right side.

“He’s a trooper, you know. He walked through fire to get home to you,” Tom says, hoping she won't be upset by the charred edges of the suit jacket.

Five begins to cry again and crushes the bear against her chest, and Tom can hear a quiet _squeak_ come from the toy. She smiles for the first time since she came back; a weak, watery, and slightly fragile smile that didn’t quite match the one she had before her disastrous mission. Tom relaxes when he sees that. It’s a very good sign. If she had shown indifference or confusion, he would have gone to Janine at once and demand she be given his mood stabilizers--

He’s taken completely off guard when she pulls him into the hug. He doesn’t share the same aversion to touch as his sister, but he’s still shocked at the gesture. She has him in a clinging, firm embrace against her shoulder and he can feel her tears soak through fabric on his shoulder. She holds him tight against her, gives him a brief squeeze, and he’s amused when he hears the bear squeak at the pressure. Finally, she leans back and begins to sign, still cradling the bear against her protectively, and with fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Thank you, Tom.” She says, and he can see that spark, that hint of a fire, return to her eyes. The sadness was still there, the grief and pain still burned bright, but it was momentarily squashed. _“_ Thank you!"

“Of course, Runner Five. All in a day’s work.” He can’t help but feel a bit pleased with himself. “What’s the gentleman's name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughs silently, drying her eyes, and sets the bear on the floor between them, facing him. “Here, I’ll introduce you. Tom, meet Mr. Bearclaw.”

Tom, with all of the solemn dignity he can muster, reaches out and firmly shakes the bear’s paw. “Tom de Luca, Mr. Bearclaw. An honor and a pleasure.”

Five snorts in quiet laughter and sets the bear aside, turning to peer into the box. She picks up a few of the letters--one from Sam, another with a child’s drawing scrawled across it--and he can see a bit of the old Five start to shine through again. She reads them slowly, and sets them aside, turning to face him. Her eyes meet his.

“Thank you, Tom. You don't know what this means to me.”

“I do my best to help out friends when I can,” Tom says, suddenly shy from the praise. He’s never handled it well. Commendations had always been awkward affairs for him. Genuine shows of friendship fell into that same category, it seemed. “You would have done the same for any one of us. It's time we repay the favor.”


End file.
